Songs of Power

by Vesenia

Herein is told the tale of Finrod Felagund, that fair king of the Noldor, who bravely into darkness went with Barahir's son, Beren, that one way fulfill his quest, and the other repay his debt. In the shadows of Tol-in-Gaurhoth he strove with the dark wizard Sauron in songs of power, and but for his courage, and his sacrifice, all hope may have been lost.

Greetings, dear reader! I thank thee kindly for showing interest in my story. A word of prelude, if I may.

This piece was inspired by the duel between Finrod Felagund and Sauron, as told in the Lay of Leithian. As you well may know, Finrod went with Beren on his quest for the Silmaril to repay a debt to Barahir, his father. Ten of his faithful kindred accompanied them, disguised as Orcs by Finrod's magic, but on the road they were captured and brought to Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves, for questioning. Therein ensued an epic battle between the Elven King and the Wizard, a battle of songs, and the power of the Elven King was very great, but in the end Sauron had the mastery. Yet the effort had not been in vain, for Sauron never discover their names or their purpose, and through Finrod's final sacrifice Beren was saved, and would go on to recover a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown, triggering a chain of events that would soon result in his downfall and the liberation of Middle Earth.

Though this story is told in great detail in Canto VII of the lay, we are never provided with the words of the songs that the two parties sing, only their effect. This has haunted me to no end, and so I have taken it upon myself, and here present my humble attempt to capture the words of the Songs of Power, such as they may have been. Please judge kindly, for I am by no means a crafty bard, but judge fairly, so that through your feedback I may improve.

As may be expected, I had many sources of inspiration for this work. In great part, of course, the original works of J. R. R. Tolkien, of which this is but a pale imitation, as well as the works of other inspired fans such as myself - the epic Finrod-Zong, a Russian fan musical by Temple, to name but one.

If my words have captured but a small part of the beauty and tragedy of the story, and the world that it is set in, then I shall consider my work a success. But of that, I leave you to be judge.

---

Long were the days once in this land of silk-skinned birches and white sand, where rushing waters sang amid the meadows green, and murmuring slid o'er falls, then burbling with glee passed ever on towards the Sea. Tither now many years had gone since darkness came and light had wan, yet not so long that trees and jays did not recall those better days. Upon a pinnacle of stone there stood, majestic and forlorn, the elven watchtower, now bound in foul enchantments, fire-crowned, with runes of malice on the door, lamenting those that were no more. Tither they came, loath and afraid – across the bridge, through halls of shade were brought, their purpose to make known, and stood downcast before the throne.

"Who art ye that into my land set foot, yet as a thieving bad in shadows sneak, and do not come before mine eyes. Do not stand mum, but tell me quick what I would know: wherefrom come ye, and wherefore go?"

The Wizard's voice like thunder rolled through hollow chambers, fierce and cold, with hidden power brimming cruel, while all about them, Orc and Ghoul and Wolf in shadows milled and crawled. There Beren stood, and gazed enthralled upon a being dark and fair, with pallid features, raven hair – an elven grace of shadows wrought, with eyes like boundless pits, where naught but darkness swelled and turned, and with a wanton malice burned. The light from torches outwards spread and bathed the throne in glowing red.

"In Nargothrond, that hidden realm, we journeyed under birch and elm; there thirty warriors we slew and in a pit their bodies threw. Now over wood and parching waste we to our Lord bear news in haste, thus must be swiftly on our way and not thine welcome overstay."

So foul the answering voice that spoke at Beren's side, with growl and croak, that marvelled he, how such a thing could truly be fair Elven-King. Unarmed and desolate they stood, but cloaked still under secret hood of charms that Felagund had made with secrecy their task to aid. He hoped his own enchanted pelt looked as disgusting as he felt, and cursed himself, that to their doom had brought his friends into the gloom.

"How touching is thine eagerness." The Wizard's voice mused, humourless. "Yet stay a while, and tell me more – what haste so great, or message sore have you, that drives you without rest? Come, humour me, unbidden guest! Thralls of Bauglir ye may be, yet also will report to me. For all that passes in these lands is my concern and by my hands is ruled – if through it ye will go, to me will tell what I would know."

"Great though thou art, low is your lot to deal with those that serve you not! We march under our Lord's decree and answer not to likes of thee!"

"Lo! Here's great spirit for an Orc! Patience, not long shall be our talk. But ere you go, thine ears me lend and my song carefully attend."

Then flaming eyes he on them bent, and in that gaze was hatred pent that swelled around them, black as ink, in which their senses choke and sink.

"Now thou wilt tell me all you know

and thine true colours to me show.

Orc-shapen is this current skin,

yet not foul Orcs ye are within!

For me no door nor lock is close,

your every secret I'll expose

in Darkness bind you – hear my call:

to Darkness ever the light fall."

.

With sudden onslaught came the spell; the hollows shook with magic fell and echoed words of opening, of piercing and uncovering. But fair and clear, as morning snow, the voice of Finrod stayed the blow, and leaping onward, strong and fleet, the Wizard's challenge rose to meet:

"From darkness there a light shall spring,

from silence hear our voices sing

in faith unbroken; here I stand

and trust my soul, by His fair hand,

to be guided through the Night.

My will is strong, and clear my sight.

Of words a fortress I will weave

that iron nor dark spell may cleave."

.

"When ends the day, and shadows fall,

no hope is there beyond the wall

of Night – with danger it is rife

and doomed already is your life.

With shapeless fears the darkness fills,

the carrion fowl in branches mill

above the mounds where restless sleep

the dead, in places dank and deep.

Past sorrows thou cannot rewrite,

the hand of Melkor will benight

all lands. Forego thine home and kin,

thine honour leave behind – therein

no solace thou canst hope to gain,

no soothing words to ease the pain.

So bow your head, why struggle thee

when nothing's left for you to see?"

.

Now louder still the chanting swelled; reeling, their crashing voices meld in one chaotic, echoing flow, seeking their foe to overthrow. As mighty swords they sheared and stung, and boldly on, with tireless tongue, the Elf King with the Wizard fought, and all the power and might he brought of Elvenesse into his word. The Sorcerer spells about them gird and sought their strength to break with fear, with nightmares and with shadows drear.

"O foredoomed isle, in shadows wrapped,

long in the darkness thou lay trapped.

Remember now, how clear and bright

the sunlight on your towers white

lay glistening in the morning pale.

Your singing voice once filled the vale.

Amid the girdle of sleeping hills,

the air awoke with starling's trills

that mixed with burbling of the stream

to join itself to the great theme

of Sirion – by wars unmarred

thou were, then, the Tower of Guard!

Still thy verdurous hosts of trees

stand murmuring sweetly in the breeze.

Their voices echo songs of yore

and in their roots they keep the lore

of days before the pressing dark;

on them, the shadow leaves no mark.

In this fair land, with passion sown,

where silver falls the rain on stone

and joyful grasses chime like bells,

through fields of snowy asphodels

I walk the paths of memories pent

that echo still in sweet lament

inside my heart. Though singest thou

of broken dreams, I hold my vow

and set my heart in stone unmoved

by threat nor blow. The land subdued

shall turn against the tyrant's will –

its hidden hearth is beating still.

Through fire I'll go on dancing feet,

your poison drink, and call it sweet.

All pain the flowing water swallows,

where I go you cannot follow,

what's built with love you cannot break,

what I hold dear you will not take."

.

So sang he, and as Finrod's words soared higher they could hear the birds singing afar, beyond the gloom. The shadows lessened; with a boom his voice, like roar of silver horn, rang clear above a world reborn. He sang for morning scarce begun, for wheat fields in the noonday sun and dancing under darkening skies, as frost of starlight filled his eyes. Then, distant, thunder rumbled. The birches bent, their splendour humbled. The grasses withered in the sun – in terror shrouded, Sauron sung:

"For every tree there is an axe,

stone seized by sudden pressure cracks,

the fire's wrath consumes the glade,

in pain are vows of trust unmade.

Where do your shallow hopes yet lie?

The serf of Gods, whose songs belie

the promises of bliss that seek

only to keep your judgment weak.

While under darkness ye endure,

in far-off lands they dwell secure

and harken not thine pleading cry.

Your days are passing, doom is nigh.

The land's dominion has no place

with children of the Star-born race

who, in their cowardice, will treasure

idle dreams of wanton pleasure

and waste their freedom dearly bought

singing little songs of naught.

See how thine precious trees are bent

in bitter whispering lament

as Winter marches on the world;

see how thine citadels are hurled

unmade into the pressing dark –

only the stones in silence mark

your passing, mourning not the loss.

Now fire burns away the dross.

Where is the King who built these walls?

Now sorrow walks his ancient halls,

the wolf's bite slays the cooing dove,

and in the Earth now sleeps his love.

Summer's leaves stoop and decay;

their anguish you cannot delay.

From darkling webs the world was spun –

in darkness it will be undone.

Come peer into the shadows dim;

the Void shall be your final hymn."

.

Now Beren looked, and was afraid, for Finrod's magic briefly swayed – their shapes about them fitful stirred, but faltered not. The gloom obscured the Wizard from their piercing sight, but they could feel his woeful might about them pressing, drawing near; still Felagund sang loud and clear:

"Lo! The dawn rises, blinding-light

to break the shackles of the night.

My soul lays bare, yet seeks no aid

in burnished shield nor naked blade.

Not by force is pain undone

but by the love that binds, as one,

our burning hearts, through blood, and Song,

through toils, joys, and journeys long."

.

"It only takes one hateful thought

for years of love to be forgot.

All vows of friendship turn to dust,

conceited hearts, fueled by lust,

shall deal destruction as they go;

with kinsmen's blood they'll dye the snow,

a Lord by his heirs will be slayed,

and Man his soul for gold will trade."

.

"A love lost is a heavy price,

but the loveless pay it thrice.

The poison of your lies runs deep

in hearts of Men, but you won't reap

its harvest ere your due demise.

The North will see our standards rise

against your hosts, with spirits true,

old fellowships reforged anew."

.

"Thine zeal already comes too late

to stay the heavy hand of fate.

Callow child, mine words attend:

blind trust will lead to bitter end.

With treason laced is kin's embrace,

promises broken, every race

from Light will turn, the ground will shake,

in every heart black hatred wake."

.

Again the darkness rose like bile around the captives, hot and vile, but dauntless yet, with burning voice, the elf king sang to heart's rejoice:

"With the strength of memories spun

from times before the Moon and Sun

I raise my song to match your own;

great is the power of thine throne

yet stones are crushed by roots of trees

and smoke is scattered in the breeze.

You hide behind your iron dress,

I stand before you weaponless

but do not bow or plead for grace.

In your heart, kindness has no place,

and in your glory you are blind –

thus by your own jail are confined.

But in the darkness seedlings sprout,

and from your sight is veiled the route

that winding runs through sunlit glade

and hemlock meadows, cloaked in shade,

past caverns deep, and under tree,

o'er mountains, and across the Sea,

into the West. Now through the days

I travel on enchanted ways

to where the air is fresh and keen,

where sunlight plays in meadows green,

and swans ride proudly in the foam

on the bright shores of Elvenhome.

Here, deathless fall the countless years.

Behold, the trembling twilight clears:

like jewel glinting from afar –

maybe I shalt find Valimar!

It's towers in the distance gleam

where memory crosses into dream."

.

"On hither shores the fires burning,

in Valinor the blood is churning

upon the carved and marbled stair

as mournful gulls sweep through the air

and pass like draughts into the East.

On pearly strands, the Gorcrows feast.

Ai! See how they cry and choke,

swathed in billowing clouds of smoke,

tall masts like flaming spears reach high

but cannot touch the unmoved sky.

Their sculpted hulls no more shall roam

the waves, nor taste the salty foam,

and all their might is brought to naught.

So is the Noldor freedom bought:

dissenters, fleeing from pearly strands,

with blood of kin they stained the sands

and sails of the white ships they drew

from lamplit havens. Swift they flew

as thieves across the raging Sea.

Can thou still hear their dying plea?

Thine brothers, mothers, maid and child,

whose homes and lives were thus defiled,

still lie beneath the waters cold

while hands of slayers flow with gold.

Wilt thou to Eldamar return

to seek forgiveness? Only spurn

canst thou now find. Lost is the way

of West, the Sun forgets the day

on hither shores, and woe betide

those that in blood would drown their pride."

.

The Sorcerer's song, in mournful waves washed o'er them; from shadowy graves the ghosts of days now long gone by rose shimmering, with faces wry. Now saw they, as through opened doors the blood upon white pearly shores. And lo! Where smashing torrents break, not foam there lies upon the wake but seabirds, glistening feather rent – white swans, their long necks broke and bent, great albatross, and crested gull – their dying cries above the lull rose dire, while from the East there came a soaring darkness, licked with flame, and heavy wads of putrid smoke did hide the skies and senses choke. But high above the mist still shone a single star, like blossom blown; across the span of unlit Sea soared the Elf king's final plea:

"The burning feathers of the dawn

stretch o'er leagues of Sea forlorn.

All sound is music, breath is bliss;

with eyes of Night and lips that kiss

the stars she guides me with her light,

my lady fair, oh Everwhite!

To thee I call in this dark hour

that my strength may endure the power.

From these black crags hear my voice call,

and pearls of silver rain let fall

o'er broken lands, gore to wash clean

and death chain up in shackles green

of moss and vine. The scarlet trail

with blossom white will twinkle pale,

and sing the harp, untouched by years,

to heal the heart and dry my tears."

.

But even as it briefly waned, the dark reformed again, and strained to break the faltering defence with raging onslaught. Fierce and tense, the King stood tall beneath the blows and fought to keep his conscience close against the memories of that day. He peered into the shadows grey and friendly faces vainly sought, but though they saw, he found them not.

"Behold! The curséd Jewels blaze

now in the North, this world to raze.

The ice gnaws at the Western shore,

The East wind howls, an oath is swore,

and all to woeful silence falls.

For ye, who are but hapless thralls,

to lands of shadows witless came,

find Life and Death to be the same.

Thou wretched soul, about you gaze

and see the grimly scaffolds raise

above the vale. You plea in vain –

the land thou sleekest you will gain

through dreadful torment, least you bend

your lofty head, mine will attend,

to me thine names and purpose give,

then might thine insolence forgive."

.

"Forgive me brothers, to this land

ye came not willing, by my hand

were guided, harkened to my call –

I did not want this fate to fall

on your brave heads. Now long the night

will be, but everlasting light

there waits for us across the Sea – "

.

"Nay, from this land you cannot flee!

Seek not the aid of distant star

that listless shines down from afar

on the wide Earth, and does not warm

the icy jaws, that land transform

to their design. Peaks solemn rise

in bold defiance to the skies."

.

"Ai! How the wind bites to the bone!

Now in the dark I stand alone.

My song I raise in face of Death

but one to save with dying breath.

Eru, my doom I cannot stay,

not for my own sake I now pray –

one thing I ask, in places deep,

grant strength enough my oath to keep..."

.

Once more the voice of Finrod rose, that now was caught in violent throes of sorrow; mournfully it sung, and was consumed by the black tongue. From darkness, visions cruel shone of ice like mountains towering grown beneath the torn and ragged sky, where wretched bones still frozen lie. Long shadows before Finrod sprung, his breath in frozen whispers hung, and violent shivers raked his form as helpless elm bent in a storm. Then, with a final, hollow moan, he broken fell before the throne. Now in their own fair shape they stand, betrayed into the Wizard's hand.

"Though foolish elf! 'Twas but a taste of what's to come – my time you waste, and now will pay for this small game." Quick from the gloom there goblins came, with rough hands him pulled from the ground and in cruel chains of iron bound.

"In pain and darkness you will dwell until thine names and purpose tell. Well you conceal them, at your loss – before the doors of Death you cross each of your friends will taste its jaws, with you the witness and the cause of every torment they endure. Perhaps your silence this will cure!"

So it befell that on that isle, twelve prisoners in dungeon vile were left to suffer a cruel lot; alone, by their own kin forgot, as more would die with each day past, but none would yield, and 'till the last were faithful to their vows and king, as still the harpers sadly sing.